


Eight Days, Nine Nights

by turtlebook



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Romance, Talking, aka Bang City, aka Polis, also a lot of the times after that, leaving the City of Light, now entering the City of Sensual Delight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-09-24 00:14:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9690680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtlebook/pseuds/turtlebook
Summary: Abby realised that for the first time in far too long two distinct but equally important facts were true: first, they weren't under threat or in any immediate danger; and second, she was alone with Marcus.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will be three or possibly four chapters long ~~depending on how out of hand the porn gets~~ , covering the time between the end of 3x01 and Abby leaving Polis after 3x02.

It was little more than a day since the City of Light had fallen and Abby was surprised that any sort of order had returned to Polis, even here in the tower. But since Roan had announced he held the Flame, the tense situation has calmed somewhat and people did indeed begin to pick back up their usual roles within the city. 

In the tower repairs were beginning to be made, ramps and ladders put in place to allow passage between floors until the elevator was restored to working order. Guards took up their places, servants went about clearing debris, sweeping floors, providing meals, or lighting candles - returning to their usual duties perhaps for wont of anything else to do. There was comfort to be found in routine, Abby supposed, even when there were still piles of bodies in the streets and the full toll of the destruction ALIE had wrought was still being discovered.

The physical damage was mostly isolated to the lower and uppermost floors of the tower where the fighting had occurred. Here on one of the middle floors things seemed much as they had the first time Abby had been here. So much had changed since that first visit to Polis, when the city was a vibrant, bustling place and Abby had been desperate to reunite with Clarke after so many months missing her daughter. 

They had just said their goodbyes a few hours earlier and now Clarke was on her way back to Arkadia with Bellamy and the last of the guards, while Abby, Marcus, and Octavia were being escorted to rooms in the tower where they were to stay at the behest of the king.

"The Ambassador's chamber." The soft-spoken servant opened a door and showed the three of them into a large room, telling them that they should call for her if there was anything they needed.

Octavia moved straight into the middle of the room, looking around with a raised eyebrow. "Always pays to have friends in high places," she said.

Abby followed Marcus in, briefly taking in the well-appointed room before turning to speak to the woman who'd brought them here - only to find her gone.

"It feels strange having people waiting on us like that," she said with a slight frown. 

She couldn't deny there had been a class divide on the Ark, but no one - not even the Chancellor - had people whose entire purpose was to serve their personal needs.

"Roan affording us the same perks as the other ambassadors helps solidify our standing here among the clans," Marcus said. "We should receive it as if it's our due. Even if it makes us uncomfortable."

Abby found herself smiling at Marcus's diplomatic skills once again so clearly on display. That wouldn't have occurred to her - she'd already found herself tempted to tell the servant woman to go find something more useful to do than hover over them. Although thankfully now the hovering seemed to have stopped.

"But you're the ambassador here," Octavia said to Marcus, before turning to look at Abby. "So what does the official healer to the king get, I wonder?"

"I'm not the official anything," Abby said. 

"And there are rooms for all of us, this section of the floor is reserved for Skaikru," Marcus said.

"Fine. Guess I'll go make myself at home, then," Octavia said, sauntering back out of the room.

"Octavia," Marcus began but the girl was already at the door.

"Look, just shout if you get in trouble in your big fancy room. I won't go far, don't worry." She gave them a chilly smile before leaving. 

"Of course, nothing to worry about there," Abby muttered, staring for a moment in consternation at the empty doorway where Octavia had been.

And then she forgot all about Octavia as she realised that for the first time in far too long two distinct but equally important facts were true: first, they weren't under threat or in any immediate danger; and second, she was alone with Marcus.

Slowly she turned around to face him. She'd hardly had even two minutes to talk to him in the past 24 hours. They'd spent the night in a prison cell after being captured trying to save Roan's life.  
Finally now they had a moment to themselves.

"What's your assessment of Roan?" Marcus said. He'd moved over near the window, parting the gauzy drapes to take in the view of the setting sun.

She approached slowly. "Medically or personally?"

"Personally?" he repeated. 

He'd clearly been asking for a medical opinion, but she answered anyway. "Well he seems sensible enough. He's certainly smart. He trusts Clarke."

"But Clarke isn't here."

She nodded as she joined him at the window. "And medically... he should be in a hospital bed for the next ten days. At least."

"But he'll be all right? I shot him point blank in the chest."

"He's extremely lucky to be alive, let alone on his feet trying to keep this place under control. But yes, as long as he..." She trailed off as she realised what he'd said. "You shot him?"

"Yes, it was me," he said almost absently, glancing her way before returning his attention to the view. "We really need him alive, and in power. You may not be the official royal healer but you'll need to act like you are."

"All right," she agreed easily. It was why she was here, after all. He and Octavia would handle grounder politics; she would handle the hole in the King's chest.

Hearing her simple reply he sighed, turning fully to face her. She knew he was feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders right now but still he smiled as he focused his attention on her. And she saw the moment he too came to the realisation that they were alone together. 

Alone together in his own private bedroom. With that enormous bed over there against the wall.

She wondered if he was about to kiss her, but he didn't move. Then she wondered if she should kiss him - but she remembered suddenly the last time she had kissed him, an awful memory in amongst a slew of awful memories she didn't want to think about right now. And she hesitated a moment too long.

"Should we go find a room for you? The others might not be as nice as this one. Though it doesn't really matter who sleeps where, you can take this room if you want."

She tried not to feel the sting of rejection. He knew as well as she did that they were on the verge of something, and he was trying to give her an easy out. But was he doing that for her sake or for his? Maybe he was just being a gentleman. Or maybe he really didn't want her sharing his bed.

"Marcus."

"I'm sure you're tired, so..."

"Tired?"

"We're all - everyone is still recovering."

She regarded him evenly for a moment, noticing immediately when he began to rub absently at one of his wrists, and frowned. "Is it itching? More painful?" 

He looked down as if he hadn't even been aware he was doing it. "No, not really. I told you, I'm fine," he said as she stepped closer.

"Tell me if the wounds start feeling hot, irritated, anything like that, it could be a sign infection is setting in." She took his wrist in her hand, much as she had the previous day, to check under the bandage. She was reassured to see there was no more redness or swelling than before.

"I'm fine, Abby," he said again more firmly.

He probably was - as much as he could be, at least. At this point, as she continued her careful examination, it was more a chance to keep touching him than anything. As she smoothed the bandage back into place his fingers curled loosely around her arm. Was she being as obvious about it as it seemed to her?

Marcus was looking down at her, waiting for her to look up and meet his eyes. Slowly she did. 

"To answer your question, I'm not tired." She watched his larynx dip as he swallowed. "Well, no more than I have been going on a few years now."

"You've been through so much."

"We all have." It was said somewhat shortly as she dropped his arm and took his left to subject it to the same attention as the right. 

He sighed. "You didn't do this to me, Abby. You aren't responsible."

"I know. I know we all hate what we did in her name; it doesn't change how it feels, seeing these wounds." 

She chanced another glance up at him, finding nothing but sadness and compassion on his face. 

She wasn't a particularly open, sharing sort of person - had never been comfortable displaying her emotions for other people to see. She had only become more closed off since losing Jake. And now, even with Marcus looking at her like that, it still didn't come easy. But he was the person she had come to rely on above anyone else. She loved him. She wanted him to know what she was feeling - the bad along with the good. 

He had stopped her from getting into it the other day, when they were too busy moving from one crisis into the next. But they were safe for the moment and she was going to take her chance now - even if he still didn't think he wanted or needed to hear it, she was going to tell him anyway.

"I feel sick thinking about it. ALIE used me to take control of all of Arkadia. I tortured... I hurt Clarke."

"I understand. I almost killed Bellamy with my bare hands."

"I hate that I hurt you. I hate that I wasn't strong enough to break free of her hold on me. I looked you right in the eye and you begged me to hear you and I didn't feel anything."

"Abby..."

"And I hate that -" she paused to roll her eyes at her own foolishness. "With everything else, I know it shouldn't matter... but I hate that the first time I kissed you like that it was - it was a lie."

"It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters. She took that from us."

"No." He brought his hands up to her shoulders. "No. That's not how it works. That wasn't you, Abby, and it doesn't count, doing something like that. Or it shouldn't. Not unless you mean it. Besides... by my recall, that wasn't the first time you kissed me. You kissed my cheek." He actually looked bashful suddenly as he recalled it. 

She smiled slowly. "And called it 'hope'."

"You surprised me that day."

"I know. Why was it so surprising that I'd kiss your cheek?"

"You'd never kissed me anywhere before." The answer, slightly defensive, was also slightly absurd, and he seemed to realise it, laughing softly. 

"Well you returned the favour a few days later, didn't you? We'll call it even."

All this talk of kissing, she had no idea why they were still just talking about it. 

She stared at his mouth. His hands came to rest on her hips.

"Please," he said. "Let's forget what happened before and just - if it's what you want - what we both want, then -"

He stopped as she lifted her hands to his face, her thumb brushing his lips once as she drew closer because _yes_ it was what she wanted. 

She had been wanting it for a long time, at first secretly and privately, and then recently not so secretly or privately at all. For months now she'd been wanting him. It wasn't a very long time in the grand scheme of things but still it felt monumental as she stretched up and kissed him. 

They held there for a moment suspended, her lips gently pressed to his with the soft bristles of his beard under her fingers and his hands lightly grasping her waist.

Like much of their interactions had been to this point in their relationship the kiss they shared now was respectful and ultimately chaste. Until it wasn't. Until she slid her hands into his hair and his arms wrapped around her back to pull her closer and their lips parted by unspoken accord. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, the kiss suddenly became deep and hungry, lips moving urgently against lips as they explored the taste of each other's mouths with their tongues.

She'd been longing for this, more than she'd even realised. And it became increasingly obvious just how great her desire for him was as her body responded to the feel of him - his strong arms around her, her breasts pressing up against the broad expanse of his chest. The solid masculine presence of him, of _Marcus_ , the way he kissed her so intently, the way his hand travelled down her back to her ass and pulled her hips more firmly against his - it sent arousal shooting swiftly through her body, settling heavy with pulsing heat at her core.

A moan escaped from her throat and was almost lost against his lips, barely interrupting the kiss that seemed as if it might go on forever. She wanted it to, but she also wanted more.

She pushed his jacket off his shoulders and he shed it easily. As she was pushing his shirt up, hands encountering and enjoying the warm skin beneath, he stopped her.

"Wait... wait a second."

"What?" she said, startled from the haze of anticipation as he guided her hands away from him.

"Just hold on, we should -"

"No. Marcus, I don't want to wait any longer. I don't want to waste any more time." She leaned back up to kiss him. 

For a moment he hummed against her lips before pulling back again. "But I just need to -"

"I think we've talked enough. Or we can talk more later - we'll talk as much as you want. I just want to be with you, I'm ready to be with you, I've been ready for a while now, and I think you have been, too. I'm just, I am sure about this. I'm really," she breathed out heavily, slipping her hands back under his t-shirt, pressing her palms to his flat stomach, "I'm really sure."

"Okay." He blinked down at her for a moment. "Good. I still want to close the door, though."

"The...?"

He pulled away from her and this time she let him. 

"The door. Right." She watched as he went over to the door, which was still standing wide open.

"I'm glad you're sure, Abby," he said, looking back at her with a smile that completely failed to conceal his amusement. 

Slowly, with an air of theatrics, he shut the door.

Perhaps she should have felt silly or embarrassed about the misunderstanding but really she couldn't have cared less. Because he was coming back towards her, hands reaching out for her again, and that was all she wanted.

"You going to take your shirt off now?" she said, making him laugh before meeting her lips briefly. 

He nodded. "I mean, if you're sure."

She snorted. He smirked and finally took the damn thing off.

She decided he could laugh at her forever if he did it shirtless. Though her eyes flicked briefly up to his as she made a halfhearted attempt at defending herself: "I thought you were going to make me talk about it."

"We can talk later."

"My point exactly." 

"So we agree," he said, his voice soft but heavy with promise. The way he was looking at her suddenly left no doubt in her mind that he was sure about this, too.

His fingers linked with hers and a light tug on her hand was all it took to set them both in motion, over to the rather impressive bed with its soft-looking furs and pillows. The image came to her vividly then - the two of them naked in that bed, their bodies entwined, her legs wrapped around him as he filled her over and over.

Her face flushed with heat. Her heartbeat increased. She abandoned the fantasy in favour of the oncoming reality of it, turning quickly to him as they drew alongside the bed and pulling him down into a kiss that he met with immediate matching fervour. 

She pulled her jacket off as his mouth left hers and trailed down her neck, his hands helping to tug it off when it snagged on her elbow. It was soon forgotten on the floor and she lifted his face back up to kiss him again because she couldn't get enough of his lips firm and ardent against hers.

His bare torso called for her attention, though, and she didn't need to crane up several inches to reach it; it was right there before her eyes when she dropped her heels to the floor, so easy to press her mouth over his sternum and taste the salt of his skin as her palms slid over his sides. 

She closed her eyes, breathing him in. Nobody had been observing particularly strict hygiene standards of late, but he smelled good to her. Musky and male in a way that made her mouth water. Pheromones were powerful things.

He murmured her name against her hair as she explored with her mouth and hands, kissing her way up over his clavicle till she could bury her face under his jaw, enjoying the feel of his beard against her face. She only drew back when he tugged at her shirt, helping him to pull it up and off over her head. The chain around her neck lifted with it, the ring dropping back against her chest as her hair fell down around her bare shoulders. 

Of course, that needed to come off, too. 

She turned away from him, hands reaching behind her neck to unfasten it without pause or hesitation. She didn't want to make a production of it; she wasn't going to wear her dead husband's ring while making love to another man, that was all there was to it. 

There was a small table beside the bed where several candles flickered. She put the chain down there, the large, plain wedding band resting there in the small pile of metal links. Almost as an afterthought she pulled off the matching ring from her finger and set it down, too. 

"Abby," Marcus said as she turned back to him.

"No talking," she said, smiling to reassure him. "Remember?"

To help him get the picture she took off her bra, feeling ever more sure of herself as the concern left his face and he regarded her with growing appreciation. He took her in his arms and kissed her again, and she sighed into his mouth as one of his hands came up to cover her breast, her nipple tightening against his large, warm palm. His tongue filled her mouth and she could feel the press of his erection, a thick, solid presence where her hips fit snugly to his.

From there things progressed quickly, with a brief and slightly awkward pause as they both were forced to sit down to take off their boots. Perched side by side on the edge of the bed, she glanced over at him wryly as she worked on her buckles and he pulled at his laces.

He was very intently focused on those laces. It made her smile. And the smile became a laugh as he said, "Race you."

He yanked one boot off and started on the next, shooting her a challenging look that made her redouble her own efforts. The buckles on her boots should really have been quicker but she'd lost precious seconds focusing on what he was doing, and he easily managed to bare his feet first. 

It certainly didn't help her fumbling fingers as he hovered over her back, kissing her shoulder and saying "I win" in her ear as his fingers trailed up and down her spine. 

Finally when her remaining sock was tossed aside she straightened and looked him in the eye. "Okay, what do you win?" 

He smiled. "You, obviously."

Usually she hated to lose at anything. As he lowered her back down to lie amongst the soft furs she found she didn't mind so much in this case. His mouth was warm as it covered hers, and when he unfastened her pants she lifted her hips to help him undress her the rest of the way.

She struggled with a flutter of nerves as he worked the last of her clothes off her feet and then hastily shed his own. Because then he paused to look at her. He sat there silently, his eyes slowly taking her in. And she wasn't bashful about the human body - her own or anyone else's - not just because she was a doctor, but because she was a 45-year-old woman comfortable in her own skin.

Mostly. Mostly comfortable. Marcus Kane staring at so much of her skin all at once didn't make her feel comfortable so much as incredibly aware of herself - her appearance, her sexuality, her desirability - in a way she hadn't been in a long time.

Finally she couldn't stand it. "Come here," she said, sitting up to grab for him and pull him back down with her so she wouldn't feel quite so on display.

He came back to her, his long body stretching out half beside and half on top of her. His knee insinuated itself naturally between her knees and his cock was a thick, promising weight against her thigh. She ran a hand up over the strong muscles of his arm and shoulder as he hovered there looking down at her. He seemed to be assessing the situation, deciding what his next move would be.

She'd seen that look on his face before but never in this context. Being intimate with him like this was, of course, different all round. She looked down the length of their bodies, the way they fit together, his bare skin against hers. And then she met his eyes.

"So this is new," she said. "Different."

He searched her expression. "You mean us, like this?" 

She nodded. 

"In a good way, I hope," he said.

She shrugged. "Well it's been okay so far." He rolled his eyes at her nonchalance. She cupped his face in her hand and amended, "It's good. Very good."

"I'd like to think we can do better than 'good'."

She couldn't help another shrug. "I might be a little rusty at this, you know."

"We can go slow."

"I'd actually prefer it if we didn't."

To prove it, she took his hand and led it between her thighs where she was wet and waiting for his touch. His eyes darkened as she pressed his fingers deep, the slick folds parting and enveloping both their fingers in heat. 

His gaze held hers as he began to explore and stroke her, taking in her every response, until she reached for his erection, curling her fingers around it and matching him stroke for stroke. His eyes fluttered shut and his head sank till his forehead rested against her temple. He released a shaky breath against the side of her face.

Simply and with little finesse they continued to touch each other like that for a while, his fingers pressing circles over her clit and hers pumping his shaft. They could have easily brought each other off just like that. And from the building sensation where he touched her she knew it would feel good - but he was right. She wanted better than just _good_. She broke the sensual play of touch and response as she surged up to kiss him and urge him over onto his back.

He seemed approving of the sudden change in positions, sliding his hands over her hips to cup her ass and help bring her astride him. She was wet and eager for him as she settled over his groin, and it was an easy thing to take his cock and press the blunt tip to her entrance and take him inside. His hands under her ass supported her as she slowly sank down his length. He was thick and hot, stretching her with a slight burn she paid little mind over the pressing need to have him deep inside. 

They were both panting when it was done; he moved his hands gently over her thighs and back which might have been soothing if she was in any mood to be soothed. Every slight twitch and shift of her hips settled him more easily inside her and she sought out more of that sweet friction, beginning to move with more confidence. 

Her body remembered how to do this, the familiar rocking rhythm soon becoming comfortable. Marcus let her set the pace, but his hands grasped at her hips and breasts with increasing ardour as they continued, his expression fixed tight in concentration.

She fell forward to kiss that serious look from his face, nuzzling under his jaw and smiling as he chased her mouth with his. When she straightened back up he followed her, sitting up himself and catching her in a firm kiss with his arms wrapped around her.

In this new position she had less range of motion but his cock inside her was now pressed unerringly against her g-spot and after just a few limited thrusts she had to tear her mouth from his as she gasped and clutched at his shoulders. Suddenly, swiftly, she was right there on the edge and she lost herself grinding her hips urgently into his until she crashed shaking through a brief, sharp climax that left her panting against Marcus's shoulder while he tenderly stroked her hair and back.

He held her quietly for a minute, then: "Abby," he murmured, her name an unspoken question, his nose nudging her ear.

"Hmm," she hummed back, lifting her face to kiss him warmly. "Marcus."

She shifted her hips experimentally and the movement triggered a last lingering spasm of pleasure, her cunt tightening reflexively around his cock. And whatever self-control he had employed till that point snapped. The world tilted as he manoeuvred her effortlessly onto her back and thrust into her hard in the same smooth motion.

His weight pressed her down into the soft furs as his hips lunged against hers, settling into a pounding rhythm. She welcomed it, wanted him to find the same release she had, though in her current state she could do little more than wrap her legs around him and utter words of encouragement in his ear she doubted he even heard over the sound of his mounting groans.

Her own arousal was banked low following her orgasm, though predictably the steady friction of his thrusts worked to stoke the flames. By the time his pace lengthened and finally broke as he gave himself over to release she was gasping with every stroke of his hips. She couldn't muster much disappointment though as she held him close, after. In between panting breaths he kissed her neck and shoulder and cheek, anywhere he could reach without moving from the cradle of her arms and thighs.

"Well that was -" she cut off mid-sentence, her breath catching as his softened cock slipped wetly from her highly-sensitive opening. 

"We're not done yet," Marcus said and he kissed her cheek again and then somehow shook off what had seemed like typical male post-coital lethargy and shifted down towards the foot of the bed.

She lifted her head to watch, bemused at this sudden burst of energy, and slow to register what he was doing until he actually did it.

Then she fell back, hands over her face, because Marcus Kane was going down on her.

She gasped loudly at the very first contact. His beard was something entirely new, creating a prickling delight of sensation everywhere it touched her sensitive, heated flesh - and it touched _everywhere_ as he buried his face like a starving man between her thighs.

He devoured her, licking along her labia in broad sweeps, laving at her swollen clit till she was whimpering at the pleasure which steadily began to rise once more under his focused attentions. His tongue slid lower to her entrance, nose buried in her folds as his tongue delved deep inside. She was slick with their combined fluids and knew he was tasting his own semen along with the flood of her arousal; she moaned helplessly, torn between wanting to drag him up to taste it herself from his mouth and never wanting him to stop what he was doing. 

He did stop but only to shift back up and close his lips over her clit and at that point she gave up on thinking altogether. 

Her fingers bunched in his hair and held on while her hips shifted and bucked under him. He increased the pressure against her clit, sucking it between his lips and her thighs began to tremble beneath his steadying hands in response to the swelling waves of the orgasm rising up and washing over her. She barely registered her own voice crying out hoarsely, the pleasure huge and intense as it carried her away.

She lay there after, boneless, breathless, her sex pulsing with small aftershocks that slowly receded. She felt weightless. And slightly astonished. She had not been expecting that.

A husky laugh escaped her because it had to be an understatement for the ages. 

No, she had not expected this. Any of this. But how could she have known? 

"What is it?" he said as he stretched out at her side, his head propped on his hand.

She rolled her head languidly over to look up at him, smiling at his tousled hair and self-satisfied expression. How could she possibly have anticipated Marcus Kane, and everything he had come to mean to her?

"Nothing." She shifted a little closer. Her limbs were growing heavy but she summoned the energy to slide her hand behind his neck to bring him down for a kiss.

He resisted, though. "I should probably clean up." He lifted a self-conscious hand to his face. She quickly realised what he meant - his beard was damp with her - or their - fluids.

"I don't care." She indulged herself then as she had wanted to before, kissing him deeply and chasing the traces of their unique flavour with her tongue. "Mm. You taste great."

"So do you," he said. His look was somewhere between shy and smouldering. "I've, uh, I've never done that with, you know, with a beard."

"That makes two of us." She laughed a little, feeling so relaxed and happy she was about as close to giddy as someone like her ever came. Which wasn't actually very close at all, but still. She rolled onto her side, leaning into the solid warmth of his chest. 

"We really probably should clean up, though," he said, his fingers trailing lightly over her back.

"Speak for yourself," she muttered. A heavy tiredness had settled over her as soon as she had closed her eyes. "I smell great."

He chuckled, which her ears didn't pick up so much as she felt it rumble in his chest. "There's a bath in here, did you notice?"

"Really? I always wondered what taking a bath would be like."

"Me too."

"Okay, you go try it and tell me how it goes." She yawned and rolled over in his arms, on the verge of sleep.

She reacted swiftly though when she felt him withdraw and sit up behind her, turning to grab his arm. "That was a joke, Marcus, get back here. You can take a damn bath in the morning."

He stared at her, and at her hand clutching him. Slowly his face took on that amused air she was beginning to both love and mistrust when directed at her.

"What?"

Not dislodging her hand, he began rearranging the fur coverlet, first working it out from under their legs and then drawing it up to cover them.

"Well, that's all right then," Abby said, trying to maintain some dignity as she lay down again with her back to him.

He lay down behind her, sliding his arm back around her waist. "So going forward, should I start giving you a written warning before doing completely innocuous things like closing doors and -"

"Go to sleep, Marcus."

He kissed her shoulder, then nestled his chin in the curve of her neck and murmured, "You're a ridiculous woman at times. You're far too beautiful to be so ridiculous."

"What does that mean?" She frowned. "That doesn't mean anything."

"You're wrong. It means everything," he said quietly.

But what she heard was _you mean everything_.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Abby thought when she woke up in bed with Marcus was _the world is ending in six months_.

Her second thought was _I don't care_.

Which was a peculiar response to the prospect of the end of the world but it was difficult to dwell on a moderately distant and still not entirely assured doom when right here and now far more important things were happening.

Namely, rising slowly out of unconsciousness, warm and relaxed, and opening her eyes to see another pair of eyes looking back at her. She smiled, and so did he. The world might have been ending but it could hardly have mattered less.

*

Her left hand looked strange without her ring. 

It caught her eye at odd times throughout the day, most of which she spent hovering around Roan while he failed to listen to medical advice - or just plain common sense - and take it easy.

When she changed the dressing on the oozing cauterised wound on his chest, there was her bare ring finger rolling out the clean bandage. When she sat beside Marcus at the midday meal, she noticed the faint line of paler skin the narrow band used to conceal while reaching for her water cup. 

She noticed it again after the meal, when Marcus, in an unsubtle attempt to steal a moment's privacy for the two of them, drew her down an unused corridor near the meeting hall where the king was temporarily holding court. It had been hours since they had last kissed and that turned out to be far too long for either of them to stand. She lifted her hands to his face, fingers caressing his beard, as they exchanged a look heavy with this new, secret knowledge shared between them. 

It was only a fleeting thought in the second before his head dipped towards her, seeing her fingers splayed against his cheek: she wasn't a married woman anymore, and she accepted that. Had already long since accepted it, at some point along the way, without even really acknowledging it.

That was why it had been so easy to take it off last night, and leave it off when she had gotten dressed this morning. That was her wedding ring; the ring of a woman who was married, once, but not now. The woman she was _now_ , who loved Marcus, who loved _being_ with Marcus, didn't need or want to wear it any longer.

She had tucked the ring away in the bottom of her medical bag, where she knew it would be safe and wouldn't be lost or left behind. And while it was a little strange to be without it, such a permanent fixture on her person for over two decades now, at the same time she didn't miss it.

Marcus's lips left hers after a slow, searing kiss and he sighed against her temple, his hands tightening on her hips. He wanted her - she already knew the signs and by god she wanted him, too. They'd had each other last night, and again this morning - just a few hours ago, but that was still too long. 

Right now they had work to do. So they parted gradually and reluctantly.

"Later," he promised.

She nodded and lifted her face to press a last, lingering kiss to his lips, enjoying the rather frustrated sound of displeasure he made before pulling away.

" _Later._ " His hands moved to her shoulders and stepped back, putting some distance between them. But she was still grasping at his jacket and he started stroking her hair back from her face because for all their intentions neither of them could quite seem to stop touching each other.

"How long can all this diplomacy stuff really take?" she said, making him smile. 

"Longer if we don't go back in and do our part."

Finally he withdrew entirely, his hand brushing her neck as they parted. His thumb caught slightly on the chain there and as they left their secluded corner she lifted a hand to resettle her necklace in place.

The two wedding rings currently in her possession were a matching set. Funny how different the weight they carried held in her mind.

Her wedding ring was _hers_. And it was hers to wear or not as she wished. 

But Jake's ring - he had given it to her to hold on to that day at the airlock. And she had worn it over her heart in all the days since, through grief and loneliness and guilt. It wasn't something she could just set aside. She wasn't sure if she wanted to, or if she should. 

It almost felt as if the decision wasn't hers to make. 

So she wavered, and wondered, and in the end her ring finger stayed bare but she put her necklace back on because to _not_ do so felt like such a huge, final, conclusive step, one she wasn't prepared to take. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Over the next few days she repeated the process, removing it only along with the rest of her attire when she fell back into that wonderful, joyful haze of passion and delight in the private moments she and Marcus found together.

And then, after, she would fasten it back around her neck. Every time she hesitated a little longer, asking herself what was the right thing to do. 

Days went by before she realised it was the wrong question all along.

*

That night when they returned to their room there was food and a hot bath waiting for them - which they would likely have missed entirely if left to their own devices, so intent were they on reaching the privacy waiting for them behind the door. But Ellys, the servant woman who'd been assigned to the Chancellor, was waiting for them.

So they had to stand self-consciously apart while Ellys served the meal and finished lighting candles around the room. Abby was itching to offer to help, but decided she had really been obvious enough today about wanting to drag Marcus back to bed. And so she waited while several hundred candles were painstakingly lit, and while Marcus exercised the full extent of his diplomatic muscles very politely and patiently thanking and reassuring the woman they wouldn't need anything else for the rest of the evening.

And then finally the door closed and they were alone again.

For about five seconds they just looked at each other, silently acknowledging with small, matching smirks the absurdity of the situation, the way they were acting like hormonal teenagers. Because yes, they were aware of it. They also didn't care.

The footsteps retreating down the corridor had barely faded when they jumped on each other like a pair of starving animals.

They fell together on the bed in a tangle of limbs and uncooperative clothing. They both managed to get shirts off, her necklace catching painfully in her hair for a second before it followed her top to the floor, replaced by his mouth covering her neck in wet, hungry kisses. She couldn't get her legs around him like she wanted with one boot still on, her jeans and underwear caught around her ankles ending up pinned beneath his knees which was awkward and annoying but she just splayed her thighs as wide as she could and yanked him closer because she didn't care as long as it happened.

He buried his face in her chest as he pushed his hand between their bodies, fingers sliding through soaked folds to find her swollen clit, rubbing as she clutched at him gasping "yes" and "now" and "Marcus". But he didn't know yet that when she said 'now' she meant _now_ ; that she was ready to go and had been for hours. She grabbed his hand away from her and found his cock, pressing the tip to her entrance and moaning in noisy satisfaction when he surged forward and entered her to the hilt.

It felt so good when he was inside her she almost came on the spot, everything else forgotten as their hips rocked together in this newly discovered rhythm that was all their own.

*

Later they ate the simple meal left for them in the small sitting area by the windows. Marcus fetched the dishes from the low table and they ate the roasted meat and root vegetables while lounging naked in bed. 

They were both hungry and barely spoke while making short work of the food. They ate with their fingers and Abby found herself enamoured all over again watching Marcus beside her, candlelight casting his skin in gold as he reclined against the pillows. She chewed slowly as her eyes followed his every action; the way his jaw worked, the way he flicked a piece of hair from his eyes, the way he sucked grease from his fingertips.

"You finished?" he asked.

She nodded mutely, passing him her empty dish which he transferred to the table beside the bed. 

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" he said, turning back to her with eyebrows raised.

She was thinking about refractory periods in men over forty and her mouth opened before she realised there was no way she was going to admit that. Stuck for a reply, her face warmed.

They were sitting together naked after having sex for the third time in 24 hours and _now_ she was blushing.

"The bath," he clarified. "We can finally try it out."

He'd missed out on trying it that morning. A servant had brought water in a bucket for them so they could wash themselves but, as Ellys had informed them when asked, filling the bathtub wasn't yet feasible.

Apparently there was a rudimentary plumbing system in the tower, but it only worked when the cisterns were full. There hadn't been enough rain to fill them recently, and while the lift was out of order bringing large amounts of water up from the ground was a slow, laborious process. 

"Hope they didn't go to too much trouble," Abby muttered, eyeing the inviting looking water in the screened-off bathing area. 

"Come on." He was already off the bed, tugging on her hand. He was so eager all she could do was grin and get up to follow.

"Will we even both fit in there together?" she said.

"Hm, well it might be a tight squeeze, but I'm okay with that." 

She looked over at him, her mouth dropping open at the innuendo matched with the smirk on his face. 

This was a side of Marcus, playful and frankly dripping with sex appeal, that she hardly knew at all. But it suited him, and she liked it. She liked it a lot. 

"I guess I can sit on your lap."

"I'm okay with that, too."

"I know."

He chuckled as he reached down to dip his hand in the water. "Still warm."

She stood beside him and tested it herself, waving her hand back and forth at the surface. They'd sated their hunger - both kinds - so quickly that the water hadn't cooled off entirely, though it was no longer steaming as it had been when they first came back to the room.

He was about to get in when she stopped him. "Wait. We have to remove those bandages first." She took one of his wrists and began to unwrap it. "And you'll need to keep your arms out of the water as much as possible - you can't soak those wounds, the water isn't sterile."

He sighed but allowed her to proceed. She took the chance to assess the wounds again with a doctor's eye, pushing aside the lingering guilt. He was healing. He was all right. He didn't blame her. That's what was important. She found herself smiling as he leaned over her and kissed her head while she was still bent over his hands. 

"Get in the damn tub, Abby," he said against her hair.

She lifted her face, eyebrows raised.

"Please," he amended, lips twitching because he knew perfectly well how she generally felt about being told what to do. 

With a shrug she braced herself on his arm and stepped over the rim, carefully lowering herself to sit down. 

"How is it?" he asked. 

She'd never been submerged in water before. It wasn't possible on the Ark, and she hadn't taken the opportunity to try swimming like many others had in the lake or streams near Arkadia. She'd never found the time, always something more important going on. 

"Different." She wasn't used to being partially buoyant, awkwardly shifting forward as Marcus got in behind her. His large frame displaced the water almost to the rim. His hands slid around her, drawing her back to rest against his chest. "But not bad," she concluded with a sigh.

*

The next day Abby found herself looking down at Charles Pike's body.

Pyres had been burning in Polis since that first day when ALIE had been shut down. There had been some attempt to separate the bodies according to their tribe - each having their own funerary rites to be observed before the dead could be committed to the fire. 

Members of Skaikru among the dead were easy enough to distinguish with their distinctive style of dress. In between hovering over Roan, it had fallen to Abby today to go through the process of identifying the remains so that their deaths could be recorded and recognised before they were disposed of in the most efficient, sanitary method available to them under the circumstances.

There were 18 bodies for her to prepare for cremation. She hadn't completed such a grim task, on such a scale, since the culling. Dealing with human remains didn't bother Abby; seeing so many familiar faces, taking score of the loss of life ALIE was responsible for, that was anything but easy.

And then there was Charles Pike. He wouldn't be joining his fellow Arkadians in the communal pyre. 

"Kane agreed," Indra said, standing beside Abby as they considered the body of the man before them. "He should be taken to the place of his crimes, to lie among the fallen warriors he cut down in the night and left on the ground to rot, as he left them. But we don't have the time to see it done properly. We'll burn him outside the embassy. It isn't enough, but it will have to serve."

"Will it help?" Abby said.

"Help?" 

Abby shrugged. She didn't see the point of any of this if there was no one who would benefit. The body of Finn Collins had been taken by Trikru to be burned among the innocent grounders he had killed at their village. In hindsight she could understand how there was some sense of closure to be found in that. 

This didn't feel the same. This felt pointless. 

She knew it didn't matter in the end where this one body was burned, or why - the man was still dead, and the choices he had made couldn't be erased.

"There is no one to be helped," Indra said. "If there was, _he_ could be no help to them. That is not why we do this."

"Then why?" She held up a hand, realising she sounded combative. "I won't stop you doing it. Not that I could. I'm just asking."

Indra considered her for a moment, perhaps deciding if she was worth giving an explanation.

"Respect. Not for him." She sneered down at Pike. "For ourselves."

Indra motioned to two of her people, large warriors who came forward to bear the body away. 

"Hold on." Abby held up her hand and leaned over the body of the man she had once considered a friend.

He still wore the chancellor's pin. It had belonged to him only for a short time, and the damage he had done with it filled Abby with bitter regret that didn't fade as she removed the pin and stepped back to let them take what they'd come for.

*

The mass funeral for their people was over. 

She had stood at Marcus's side, her hand in his, and they had recited the Traveller's Blessing while the first of the flames took hold. She had seen Octavia there too though the girl kept her distance, not joining them to pay her respects. Whether she was only there in her assumed role as Marcus's bodyguard or if she felt some obligation to observe the passing of people who had once lived on the Ark - lived there with her, but always apart from her - was impossible for Abby to tell.

They made their way slowly back to the centre of town. It was impossible for them to lose their way even in the haphazard warren of narrow streets when all they had to do to orient themselves was look up.

"It's amazing, this building," Marcus said when they reached the main square, craning his head back to regard the tower. "This area was a large urban centre, there would likely have been many other multi-storey buildings around it. I wonder why this one alone remained standing."

Abby smiled at his curiosity. Her first thought was to tell him that Jake, an engineer to the bone, would have wanted to know that, too. She remained silent, though, feeling strange about it as soon as she realised what she'd been about to say. She'd never talked to Marcus about Jake, not so casually.

She never talked to anyone about Jake. She didn't even know how to begin to open that wound. She had vague hopes that one day she and Clarke might be able to talk about the man they had both loved so much, to remember him together, without becoming mired in grief and guilt. But they weren't there yet.

If she talked to anyone else about Jake, it would be Marcus. She had reached this place where her instinct was always to talk to Marcus about anything important. And usually anything unimportant, too, for that matter. 

But this was different. Bringing up her dead husband while this thing between her and Marcus was so new, when so much between them was still unspoken - she wasn't sure if they were ready for that. 

"What are you thinking about?" Marcus spoke suddenly, making her wonder what he had seen on her face just now to make him look at her with gentle concern.

Maybe it was just her who wasn't ready to talk about those things yet. She knew he would listen to anything she wanted to share with him. And she wanted to share everything with him. Someday.

She just shook her head, not trusting her voice, and held out her hand which he took without hesitation.

"Let's go up to our room."

"All right," he said, nodding quickly as a certain warmth lit his eyes.

She knew exactly what he was thinking, and realised how much she wanted it, too. After today, taking toll of the dead, she didn't want to think about those who were gone. She wanted to retreat from it all to the promising lure of Marcus Kane, his bed, his body - the haven of peace and sensuality that was waiting for them inside the tower.

"We have a little while," Marcus said, squeezing her hand and rubbing his thumb over hers. "There's one more funeral tonight. We should be there. For Charles."

It was not in any way _for Charles_ , she thought but didn't say. Because she'd had enough of all of this for now. She didn't want to think about anything or anyone but Marcus, at least for a little while. 

*

He sat on the side of the bed, looking up at her as she shed her jacket. He helped her step out of her boots, trailing long fingers up the length of her legs to loosely grip her hips as she stepped between his knees.

She loved the way he looked at her, not with blind adoration - because who if not Marcus Kane was fully aware of her less attractive traits? He saw all of her, and still looked at her with appreciation and naked desire he made no attempt to hide. With that look he wanted all of her and offered all of himself in return. 

There had been times since losing Jake that she thought this part of life was closed off to her forever. She didn't see how she could ever open herself up to someone else again. But Marcus made it so easy; he didn't seem to even know he was doing it. Being so generous with himself had become natural for him since coming to the ground, he did it unconsciously, with no thought to how amazing it was. 

How amazing _he_ was.

She loved him for it, for this and for everything else, though she hadn't told him so yet. Being with him physically was one thing, a hurdle she frankly wished she'd crossed much sooner because it was just as good, if not better, than she had hoped it would be. Loving him so completely felt more natural by the day, but she was hesitant, and sensed that he was, too, to openly define the full weight of their emotional connection.

They both _knew_ what this was. She couldn't have him looking at her the way he was right now and not know. She hoped he was equally assured as she drew her top off over her head and reached behind her neck to unfasten her necklace and set it aside. 

He didn't seem to be in any doubt as his eyes appreciatively took her in. In her bare feet, with him seated, she would only have to take a half step forward and his face would be buried in her chest - and in fact he looked about two seconds from making that happen as his hands slid around her waist to the small of her back. But he sobered suddenly, eyebrows dipping together in a frown as his fingertips traced the rough outlines of her scars. She took his hands and brought them back around in front of her. He lifted his eyes to hers, about to speak.

"Shh," she tried to forestall him.

"Abby -"

She leaned down and kissed him quickly, squeezing his hands before releasing them to touch his face, holding him there until he responded to the warm coaxing of her lips. Their moments together like this were brief reprieves from the demands of reality. She wanted to enjoy it, and even moreso she wanted _him_ to enjoy it.

An idea of how that might be accomplished occurred to her and she drew her lips from his to ask, "Marcus how long has it been since your last blowjob?"

" _What?_ " he spluttered.

"Bet it's been a while."

"I - seriously? Oh my god."

She was lowering herself to her knees before him and it was safe to say that he was no longer thinking about how she had gotten the scars on her back.

"Abby."

"Well?" she prompted, sliding her hands along his thighs. "How long?"

"I... I think you know that it has been a while." 

His eyes had darkened; she was loving the effect she was having on him right now, the way his breath caught as she trailed her fingernails along his in-seam. The way he obeyed instantly, with almost comical haste, when she told him to take off his shirt. The way he breathed her name when she began to kiss her way down his chest.

It was exactly what she had been wanting. She didn't want to think about mistakes of the past, the losses they had suffered - or that might yet come to pass. She wanted to focus only on him and what they had together. She wanted all of his attention on what she was offering here in the present. _You have me, I'm here now,_ she was saying without words as she released his hardening cock from his pants and with her hands and mouth did her best to give him all the pleasure he deserved.

After all, she didn't have to tell him she loved him to make him feel loved

*

They dressed in the evening light, Abby fastening her necklace back in place before taking a comb and attempting to work it through her tangled hair.

She spared a slightly resentful glance for the man across the room who threw on his jacket, ran his fingers through his hair, and somehow managed to look entirely respectable - not to mention incredibly handsome - with so little effort. She was glad grounder ceremonies generally didn't have a strict dress code, because she was pretty sure she currently looked like she'd been through a war and then spent three days having great sex and there was little she could do about it with the resources available to her.

Returning some semblance of order to her hair, tying it partially back behind her head to keep it out of her face, was about as far as she could go in making herself presentable.

She smiled as she felt a hand smooth the hair down her back, looking over her shoulder at Marcus. He seemed to like her hair, trailing his fingers through it in bed, brushing it back from her face, touching it as often as he could. He'd helped her wash it in the bath with the crude soap available here in Polis, spending long minutes patiently working out the wet tangles with his fingers. She'd found it soothing and incredibly romantic, the way he had so seriously applied himself to the task of caring for her like that.

Jake had liked her hair, too; it was why she'd never cut it short as an adult even though short hair was so much easier to manage. He'd liked to help brush it sometimes and braid it for her with his large, capable hands.

She wondered if Marcus had watched her combing her hair from across the room with the same desire in mind. She didn't know how she would feel about that, if he had.

"Are you ready to go?" he said, fingers playing lightly in the ends of her hair. "If you want to check in with Roan before we head over to the embassy we should leave now."

She nodded, once again pushing aside these thoughts that distracted her from the present. As she set down the comb and turned to face him she thought of something far more prescient.

"Wait - actually, you're missing something."

"I am?"

She felt in the pocket of her jacket and produced the chancellor's pin. "This. It's yours - you're chancellor now."

He frowned. "I lost the election, Abby. Pike's death doesn't change that."

"You were the runner up."

"That's not how it works."

"Who else if not you? It has to be you."

"Clarke -"

She barely restrained an eye-roll at that, a petty remnant from a time when he had been so willing to trust her daughter's judgement over her own - which might have been the right call under the circumstances but had stung all the same. Things were different now, but he was still wrong about this. "Clarke doesn't want to be chancellor. And she shouldn't be."

"She's a remarkable leader."

"I know. I know she is. You don't have to tell me, she's my daughter, I know she's important. The things she can do, her strength, we need that." She held up the pin. "But we need this, too. We need someone we can all look up to and believe in, someone who can hold us all together. That's you."

He didn't say anything. She could see he was moved. She could also see he wasn't quite convinced.

She gestured more insistently with the pin. "Trust me, we'll all feel better when you're wearing this. I know I will." 

He cupped his hands around hers. "You don't know what it means to me that you... have so much faith in me."

"Well you make it really easy."

"I still want to actually consult our people in Arkadia before anything can be made official."

She huffed in frustration. "I knew you'd say that. I just want to put this on you, like I should have months ago. It should be you, it should always have been you."

"The choices Pike made were not your responsibility, Abby," he told her, compassion filling his gaze.

"No, but I made choices of my own. They are on me." 

And if she had stepped down earlier, before Pike had a foothold in camp, or if she had remained chancellor until the situation in Arkadia was less volatile - but she hadn't. She had made the call to transfer the responsibilities of leadership to someone else, and she would always think of the people who might still be alive now if she had made a different one.

He tilted her chin up and covered her mouth with his, kissing her gently but insistently, as if he could take away all her fears and regrets with this alone. He couldn't, of course, but she appreciated the effort and was more than willing to let him try.

*

The ceremony at the Trikru embassy was a sober affair carried out with little fanfare. It seemed to be enough for Indra and her people to see it done. 

Octavia didn't make an appearance at this funeral, for all that she was the one who took the man's life. When Abby asked about it Marcus shook his head.

"This tradition, as I understand it, is about finding closure; I don't think Octavia is ready for that."

"Are any of us?" she wondered aloud.

"There hasn't been much time for grieving."

Feeling the heat of Charles Pike's funeral pyre on her face, she shrugged. "There never is."

*

The next morning she saw Marcus looking at the chancellor's pin where she had left it on the table at his side of the bed. 

He didn't put it on, but when he left for the day it was gone and she was glad to know he was carrying it with him.


End file.
